Fall Into These Arms
by Eileen Blazer
Summary: Summary: Rogue's story, from the end of X3 to the start of DoFP, as told through a series of first meetings (or variations thereof). "He's cunning. Charming. A fast talker with a pretty mouth. He will make you feel like you've never touched a man before, like no one has ever really looked into your eyes. Don't fall for it."


**Fall Into These Arms**

(And Spend the Night with a Stranger Like Me)

**Summary**: Rogue's story, from the end of X3 to the start of DoFP, as told through a series of first meetings (or variations thereof).

**Disclaimer**: I'm not going to tell you I don't own the X-Men. You know that. Instead, I'm going to warn you that I employed about as much effort to maintain proper continuity as I suspect the script writers employed while writing… literally any of the prequels-sequels-sidequels.

**Author's Notes: **So, hi. For those who don't know (like 98% of the people who might read this), ah - this is a thing I used to do. This Rogue/Remy fic times thing. I haven't for a long while, though. It's kind of like walking into a bar you used to frequent in college, but you graduated and then came back for a visit and now like… not everybody knows your name. If somehow you do remember me, uh, 'sup, guys. We got old and they still didn't give us Rogue/Remy in a movieverse. (This is dedicated to you.)

I.

no one needs to know

how far back we go

we'll share a cigarette

and we'll blow smoke rings

'til we have a halo

- New Politics

_**Raven**_

She asks only, "Are you going to kill me now?"

It seems the obvious conclusion. Here she is, flat on her back – ambushed, defeated – the sharp end of a blade pressing at the space between her ribs. The woman above her, the one with a blue knee pushed down against Marie's sternum, is as much a harbinger of death as any hooded skeleton with a scythe.

"And if I am? Is that it? Is this all?" The older woman asks, "You're not going to scream? Beg? Fight?"

"We both know I can't best you in hand t' hand combat. And I'd rather die than beg you for anything."

That's a final cue for Mystique to just _get it over with already_, but instead she leans back, a fraction of a degree, and sighs. "I'm not surprised. You always did take the easy way out."

Marie scoffs into the darkness. "Nothing in my life has ever been easy. Least of all my choices. You don't know anything about me."

"I could say the same to you and it'd be twice as true." There's a tonal change in her voice that Marie can't quite follow. Mystique pulls back the knife, slips it into a sheath somewhere under her shirt and raises her knees so that Marie can breathe again. _Really _breathe.

She takes hungry, greedy gasps of air deep into her lungs, letting her rib cage expand just because it can. It is only after a long moment that she rolls up into a sitting position and refocuses on the slender, blue woman perched at her side. Mystique's eyes have the faint glow of fireflies. "If your aim is t' confuse me t' death… you're on track."

"I know you left the X-Men."

Marie frowns. "I didn't _leave_. Not for good, anyway. I just took a sabbatical." The words are experimental, and she isn't sure how true they are. Will she ever go back to the school? She's welcome, well enough, to hear everyone talk about it; but, with her abilities gone and the spark with Bobby good and dead and Logan always on an adventure somewhere… she's just not sure. Then she remembers who she's talking to and adds, "But they'll come for me, no matter what. They'll come for _you_, if you kill me. You'll have Logan t' deal with."

"Another obstinate, angry man? I've been dealing with Logans all my life." Mystique shrugs. "And anyway. Aren't you tired of relying on everyone else to fight your battles? I've seen what you're capable of. If you're going to threaten me, threaten me with your own fury, your own strength."

But Marie is something worse than afraid – she's worn out, tired, and she doesn't rise to the challenge set out for her. "Why are you even here?"

"Not to kill you," the woman assures her at last. "In fact, I'd like to see you live. Less cryptically, I'd like you to join me on a mission down south. I'm assembling a team, and you'd be a valuable asset."

"Seriously?" Marie blinks. "Seriously. This has gotta be a joke. This was just a little midnight ambush so you could extend a job offer? I ain't buying it. What's this _really_ about?"

"This is really about bringing you on board my next project. The ambush… if you want to call it that… was merely a test. I hoped to see you in action, fighting. Surviving."

And where is she supposed to go with that? Marie studies her – the assassin, Magneto's versatile right hand, twisted as all-get-out – and tries to piece together a reality wherein this moment is actually happening. Where she's flat on her butt and face to face with a woman rumored to have once killed a man with his own hipbone, being offered a place at her side. The whole thing is absolutely ludicrous. "One," Marie says, quiet in her confusion. "In what conceivable world would I ever want t' join ranks with someone like you? And two, I took the cure, Mystique. Those assets you've been wanting are gone. I have nothing t' offer you."

Mystique looks pained for a moment, and that's satisfying. But then she speaks, saying, "I knew about the cure." She twists the last word with sarcasm. "I knew you'd thrown away your gift long before tonight. It's disappointing, I won't deny that. But I came for you anyway. Your special abilities may be gone, but you're hardly common. I can help you. Teach you."

"How to kill people? How to be evil? I'll pass."

"You're a grown woman," Mystique sneers. "You can't really believe the world is so black and white."

"I can believe what my own eyes have told me," Marie snaps in return.

"Can you?" The shape-shifter speaks the words with Marie's own mouth; not as she is, but as she was: a skittish teenager with matted hair and dirty nails, stealing candy bars to stay alive. Her eyes – Marie's eyes – are deep and haunting as she reaches forward to catch Marie's hand between her own and when she speaks, her voice is a familiar, soft southern drawl. "We took you because you were weak, Darlin'. Because you had so much potential, you were nearly bursting at the seams and none of it was being realized. And it will always be that way. Whether it's me or Logan, Erik or Charles, you will always be subject to dominant forces unless you rise up in your own right, in your own defense."

Instead of denying that she's played a relatively passive role in her own life, Marie just recoils back, wraps her arms tightly against her chest. "I don't buy this girl power crap, okay? You just want me t' experience some personal growth. Your heart is just three sizes too big. Do you think I'm stupid?"

Mystique gives her a look that seems to say _maybe_. And then she shrugs and she's herself again, a patterned blue, her red hair for once left loose and soft in the air. "You've heard of the sentinel project, a joint venture between a top secret paramilitary force and the United States government. They're designing artificial life forms that can target and eliminate anyone carrying the mutant gene. Without intervention, they'll be active in the next five years. If the project succeeds, no one will be safe. Not me, not your friends, not even Logan. I'm going to stop it. You can help me and in return I will help you – I will teach you how to fight and win without your abilities, how to control a room full of enemies, how to lead." She reaches out again, suddenly looking genuinely compassionate. "I know what it's like to be lost."

It's been a long time since Marie has taken an honest gamble. She shuts her eyes and finds that the prospect of _trying_ is… almost exciting. And it isn't like she has anything better to do. Not even the mansion has felt right since Xavier died and the cure happened. She opens her eyes and frowns. "Okay, Mystique. I'll bite. But go too far and I won't hesitate to call the cavalry up against you."

The older woman smiles. "Call me Raven."

Marie says, "Call me Rogue."

_**Irene**_

"Irene!"

Raven burst through the doors of the small pink house with such force Rogue wondered if the neighbors were already calling the police about a potential break in. The hinges screeched; the wood creaked. She bit a lip and followed Raven inside, still balancing the small bundle of her personal belongings over a shoulder.

She'd grown accustomed to secret headquarters and underground lairs. She'd half-expected the house to be just a ground-level mouth into a much larger, more dramatic setting. But it was just a house, and a quaint one at that, with a crocheted, patchwork rug, a pale yellow couch and light blue drapes. There was even a wooden rocking chair, and a sleeping woman curled up in it. Her wispy, silver hair was piled up in a loose bun, and black glasses dangled at the edge of her nose.

"Irene," Raven said again, dropping to her knees in front of the woman. She placed her hands on the woman's legs and sighed. "Are you going to be mad forever?"

The woman –awake after all, Rogue quickly realized – wrinkled her nose. "It's possible."

"We had a disagreement before I left," Raven explained, placing both her palms on either side of the Irene's face. "But that's over now." And she leaned forward to brush the glasses back up, and then kissed the woman solidly on the lips. Irene stiffened, then relaxed into the embrace. Recognizing the moment as an unexpected display of domestic intimacy, Rogue thought she should look away – but seeing Mystique so human and real was a rarity – she couldn't turn her head.

Then they broke apart and Raven leaned back on her haunches. "I brought Rogue," She said, sort of proudly, like a cat dropping down a captured mouse for approval. "As we discussed: on her own volition. And she's still alive!"

Rogue frowned at that.

"Rogue, meet Irene Adler. A partner of mine in this project, and in life." As she spoke she reached to the side of the sitting woman and pulled up a cane. She pressed it into Irene's hands. "Irene has the gift of precognition. She can anticipate the future."

"The probable future," The woman said, simply, using the red-and-white tipped cane to navigate to her feet. Though obviously blind, she still somehow knew which way to turn to face Rogue. "I've seen you so many times before, it feels like I already know you. In every vision, you're beautiful. Welcome to our home. To your new home."

Rogue bowed politely. "It's an honor," she answered, surprised to find she meant it. There was something reliably kind-looking about this woman, something gentle in her manner. "This isn't quite what I expected."

"Not quite the extravagant castle of megalomaniacs, as you imagined?" Irene cast a look at her lover. "Don't worry. There are still plenty of them in this room. Why don't you come with me to the kitchen and I'll fill you in on the grand design. Now that we've secured you, we can move on to the other recruits - we'll likely need your help with that. Now, tell me. Do you like two sugars or three in your coffee? And how is your French?"

**END PART 1**

**Concluding Author's Note (Because I like to talk):** The Raven thing was half a cheat, maybe. Because yes, she met Raven before. But this was more of a reboot - not in terms of continuity, but of their relationship. They were meeting for the first time (again). And so on. And no Remy! _Womp_, _womp_. It's ok. He's coming. Drop me a line! Send a PM (we can do that now). Send me an email to eileenblzr . Check out my Tumblr at... Oh, I don't know. Come-on-eileenie probably. Leave a review!

3's, EB


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